


John, it's not always say goodbye before death...

by Allison_Goodfellow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Killing, Not Canon Compliant, POV First Person, Relationship(s), Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29058129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allison_Goodfellow/pseuds/Allison_Goodfellow
Summary: I can see the grey skies of London again, standing by your grave, and I don't understand why things turned out this way... Maybe I should have accepted you, your decision, but I couldn't. Sherlock, you're not what I thought you were... honest, arrogant at times, but still much more human than me... because I'm... just a soldier who never came back from the war.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson





	1. Meeting you

**Author's Note:**

> song: our last night – forgotten souls

[She hopes and she prays for someone to take her away  
Holding her breath waiting to drown…]

As the sun rises, light floods the room, breaking through the grey clouds of the London sky. The breeze is still blowing through the trees and the wires, creating a barely audible whispering sound. The streets are filled with cabs and people rushing about their business. But one thing I don't understand is why I can't hear it. Every night I wake up in a cold sweat and I'm not myself.   
Does it hurt? Yes.   
Scared? Maybe.   
The war won't let me go. A battlefield drenched in enemy blood. The smell of that very blood, baked in the blazing sun. The cannons blasting. The gunpowder that settles in thick dust on the corpses. The killers and the dead. Afghanistan.

When a man takes up arms, he always wants to protect something. It could be his own life, his honour, someone he cares about, something he believes in... But I keep telling myself - killing in the name of war does not stop being killing. Nothing can justify me. There are situations in which a soldier has no right to retreat, he does what he has to do. A little later I realised that wars do not end, only soldiers' lives end.

Every new day is like unbearable torture, I miss something, and I am afraid that sooner or later it will catch up with me again. Thousands of miles have been travelled, thousands of lives have been lost, I have been wounded myself, but my pain is a refracted reflection of my own mind. A rapid pulse, a shiver that pierces to the bone... Again. It wasn't long ago that I moved to London in search of a quiet life. One phone call, one meeting and one acquaintance changed my life.

\- Afghanistan or Iraq?

\- Excuse me? How... how did you know?

That man took one look at me and already knows everything. Is that possible? He's unlike anyone I've ever known before. An unparalleled genius with a passion for killing and solving crimes. Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. Sherlock lives the game where London is the battlefield, he feels the heartbeat of this city. Devoid of feeling and scornful of emotion, Sherlock is more human than I. So it seemed to me at the time.

I spent the rest of my time walking around the city, reaching the street where I would be renting a flat with Sherlock, and afterwards having dinner at the café that is on the ground floor. I didn't even notice how the time flew by, and only the sound of the bell reminded me of it. It was late evening, around eleven o'clock. On my way home, I was attacked by a crackhead. He had a knife. I wanted to disarm him, but being true to my military alignment I killed him... A completely innocent man... Someone once told me that it is not the weapon that kills, but its owner, and in war I learned that to ensure that the blood spilled is not in vain, there is nothing left but to spill more. These random phrases poison my thoughts because I am no longer a soldier, I do not belong in war. 

This nightly silence, enveloping someone like a blanket and me in mute terror. My life will never be normal until I get rid of the ridiculous guilt, until I let her go, or until I escape. She waits around the corner, waiting to attack me as if I were a victim. Every day I ask more than ever for a quiet life, for someone to pull me out of the hellish captivity of the past. 

Am I once again monologuing to myself during some busy, hurried, lonely time?

Where am I real, how do I present myself?

Individually, I behave differently in different situations. Maybe I'm trying to be better. But for whose sake? Why trick my mind - it's all one-actor theatre. But Sherlock... what do I know about him except his name?

That's the thought I catch myself in that fleeting moment before I go to sleep. Yes, that's right. Things are going to change and soon enough. Baker Street 221B.


	2. Game on!

[A false front was all it was,  
A passion so fake, controlled by the play]

A few days later I moved into a new flat. The landlady, Mrs Hudson, is a kind, simple and caring woman, honest and perhaps a little superstitious. According to Sherlock, England would sooner fall than Mrs Hudson would leave Baker Street. I decided to blog, as I was advised to do by my therapist. To be honest, I'm not quite sure what to write about. "Write about everything that happens to you, Dr Watson". Nothing's going on! Nothing.

The heart of Foggy Albion is hidden behind a veil of cold rain. I read in the paper about suicides in strange circumstances, Scotland Yard still had no answer as to who was behind it. They had to ask Sherlock for help and he called me along on the case. I've seen a lot of death, dead bodies, I can't be frightened of anything, but when people volunteer to die, to take poison... It's really scary.

"Not bad, John, not bad at all. True, you missed most of the important stuff, but still". I'm a military doctor, not a criminologist. I knew I wouldn't understand anything, but I tried, and Sherlock found out everything and more in less than five minutes. I'm amazed. He gets ideas into his head at lightning speed, his brain contains all the information he needs with pinpoint accuracy, he knows how to use it, he knows how to observe. By the time I got downstairs, Sherlock had already left, as I was later told. Well, to be on the other side of town and not even know where exactly. I decided to walk to the nearest street from the crime scene to catch a taxi, but a car was sent for me.   
Threatening? No.   
Curiosity? No.   
Desperation? More likely.

\- Courage is just a euphemism for "stupid", don't you think? What's your connection to Sherlock Holmes?

\- I'm not. I barely know him. We met yesterday.

\- And you're already solving crimes together?

\- Who are you?

\- An interested party. And you, Dr. Watson, so quickly becoming loyal to him.

\- Are we done here?

\- I suppose people have already advised you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that they haven't succeeded.

\- Who the hell are you?!

\- When you walk alongside Sherlock, you see a battlefield instead of the usual London, am I right?

\- Maybe.

\- It's not the war that's chasing you, Dr Watson. It's you. Welcome back.

People often take others' opinions as their own, even if they are absurd. I think the relevant question here is, how much can a person entail others? We see what we want to see. We remember what it seemed to others. People tend not to be autonomous in choosing the right answer, just as an individual would not go against everyone alone. It is easier to agree than to oppose. Everything is going towards a simplification of life in society. But this is not about me. I am true to my principles, so for me "backing down" means "losing out". And what's all this thinking about my loyalty to Sherlock Holmes?

But I did save him... 

During the search of our flat, Sherlock slipped away from Scotland Yard officials, a little later the search engine found the location of the phone, and at the same time our detective. I couldn't wait, because Sherlock was in danger. I arrived at the right address, having previously dialled Lestrade, and dashed off in search of Holmes. Every door, every bloody room, was empty! Walking with a murderer, knowing that he might die! Is that a method of work?! I'll never know what's in his mind, but if he lives, I swear I'll kill him!

\- The bullet recovered from the wall was fired from a pistol. It was a precise shot to the heart from that gun at that distance. He is not just a marksman, he is a soldier. But his hand did not flinch, so he is accustomed to violence, but did not fire until I was in immediate danger. A man of strong moral principles. We're looking for someone with a military background and... nerves of steel. Any ideas?

\- None.

\- That's what I thought. Be careful from now on, we'd better avoid a lawsuit. You all right?

\- Yes, of course. Stop laughing, this is a crime scene after all.

I didn't feel an ounce of doubt, hesitation... I took the gun, pulled the trigger with my finger, and even the distance wasn't an obstacle. I didn't think, I just shot, because I wanted to save Sherlock. I've been taught to hide the feelings that can get in the way of war. There is only the duty to stand until dawn and kill anyone who approaches; the promise to return home; and the fear of death, to remain forever on the bloody field. Have I been drawn into this game, or have I entered it myself?

\- Sherlock, the one I was talking about.

\- I know exactly who it is.

\- What are you doing here?

\- Just being thoughtful, as usual. Don't be so aggressive.

\- By the way, John, this is my brother Mycroft.

\- He's your brother?

\- Of course he is.

\- Good day, Mycroft. Please, no war until I... We get home.

They have a very interesting relationship, I never thought they were brothers. But then one thing I don't understand is why you couldn't just say, "Sherlock is my brother. Dr. Watson, please look after him?" Where the hell is the logic in their behaviour?!

\- Were you going to swallow that capsule?

\- Of course not. I was stalling. Knew you were coming.

\- You couldn't have known. You just like it. Risking your life.

\- Why would I do that?

\- You're just an idiot!

\- Dinner?

Another evening in Sherlock's company. I think I'm beginning to get used to him and his manner. We sat in a Chinese restaurant until almost midnight and just talked. He told me about Mycroft, which should have been done immediately. I had no idea he was the epitome of British government. Of course, he has his own ideas about caring for his little brother, but I think still, deep down, Mycroft is more emotional. I also learnt a lot about Mrs Hudson, oh my god she's amazing, just a saint for putting up with Sherlock and his emotional outbursts. 

I've also decided what I'm going to blog about. Not about me. Sherlock. About how he solves crimes. I think that makes sense.

I don't know what I'm into yet, but it's definitely something new, extraordinary. Life will tell. All I have to do is wait for Sherlock to say again...

\- Game on, John! Game on!


	3. Fake

[This is not the rise and the fall of the tide,  
A pain in the chest and two watering eyes]

I woke up to Sherlock's violin sonata. It wasn't obtrusive, harsh or too dull. Harmony. That's what I heard. Music has the power to touch people's hearts and touch the strings of their souls. When you play a note, it feels like you're touching something deep and fragile. Sherlock has mastered the art of creating harmony from blank, wholly soulless notes. He remembers by heart, with his fingers, how unmistakable it is, how piercingly painful it is to let the strings tingle in his fingers. I often see his eyes closed, for one need not see to play - his hands and heart will do everything. The heart - how can a man who denies feelings and emotions create something so beautiful? And does Sherlock have a heart?

Every now and then a new case would come up, which I would later write articles about on my blog. Of course, not without Sherlock's comments. I constantly hear something like "Idiotic title, don't you think?" or "Are you going to write about unsolved cases? Why?". In the mornings, clients come in, we listen to their problems, and Sherlock decides whether or not to take the case. If he's bored, he might shoot at the wall. I got used to it pretty quickly. Sometimes Sherlock goes out on errands for his brother and I stay home with Mrs. Hudson. We watch shows and drink tea and solve Sudoku. It can be fun. Sherlock comes back in the evening and over dinner he tells us everything he's found out about, or what we have to do. If he's in a good mood, he might play the violin.

That's roughly how I would describe a typical day in Baker Street.

Just like that, day after day, Christmas Eve has arrived. Winter lends the memories a long time ago. Under the snow, the house seems old, as if its life is moving back in time to those bygone centuries. On evenings like this, when the snow swirls and the frost crackles behind the wall of the old house, famous stories and beautiful legends take on meaning. At one point I started to think about my feelings for him, because Sherlock once said: "I don't like people, but you're the exception". I didn't give it much thought at the time, and I think for nothing. Why can't I forget questioning him about whether he has a boyfriend and girlfriend? Do I really qualify for that position?

\- Christmas is a family holiday. Why don't you go and see Mycroft? I'm sure he'd be delighted.

\- Did you say something?

\- Oh, come on, Sherlock. You can't do that. You should have called him.

\- He'd have said, "Is something wrong, brother?" Now he's sitting by the fireplace, drinking whisky, maybe cognac, thinking of a new riddle for me. Mycroft is always alone, just like me. Loneliness is the only thing that keeps me safe, though lately I'm not so sure about that. We will definitely go to see my parents, but a little later. I hope this incident is over.

\- No, it's friends who keep people safe.

\- I don't have any. There's only one best friend.

\- Oh, Sherlock... What an arrogant, stuck-up, stubborn fool you are!

\- Your habit of stating facts borders on mania. John, next time, please come up with something new.

\- Is something wrong?

\- I've been subtly insinuating all day that I want your attention, but you've never once noticed, and now I'm pissed.

\- You could have just said.

\- No. For God's sake, John, stop it.

\- Stop what?

\- Smiling like that. I'm not sure what can happen if you keep doing that.

\- I've had enough. I'm going for a walk and I'm going to the shop. Can I buy you anything?

Sherlock didn't answer, but I didn't expect to. I walked down the street, gazing into the reflection of the expensive shop windows, as if I were searching for something. Yes, indeed, I wanted to find answers for myself. I have ambiguous feelings about Sherlock, it feels like a kind of chemistry, it's probably not even work-related. It's more personal, it's like love... Oh God, why did I phrase it that way? But to Sherlock, love is a mystery, a riddle that cannot be solved.

What happened next surpassed all my expectations. I myself had become a hostage to the "big game" played by the king of the underworld, as he calls himself, Moriarty.

Midnight. The pool. I stood in the sniper's crosshairs, strapped with explosives. More than once my life had been at risk, but it was only here that I realised I could truly die. And yes, I was ready. I have love, and that is something worth fighting for. Something worth dying for. Moriarty called me a loyal pet, because you get used to them, keep them close to you. I wanted to strangle him, but I don't think I could have. I hoped to the last that Sherlock would stop him. It didn't work this time.

\- Are you all right?

\- Yeah, I'm fine.

\- What... What you... What you did... What you offered to do... that was... great. Thank you.

\- I'm glad no one saw it. The way you ripped my clothes off in that half-dark pool. Word would've gotten out.

\- That's all people are waiting for.

\- I didn't know what to do... I just wanted to save you, but you seem to be doing pretty well for yourself. Was that stupid of me?

\- You're scared, and I can see it. Being a soldier and not being able to counteract because you don't know where it's going to lead. No, it's not stupidity. It's courage my brother despises. Look, I love this hug and all, but could you please stop?

\- Yeah... Sorry. I got a little carried away...

\- It's okay. It's over now. Let's go home, John.

We walked home leisurely through the deserted streets. Silence. All I could do was look straight into his eyes, everything else fading, while my own involuntarily filled with tears. There were no words to express my feelings: fear, relief, love and gratitude; the tears spoke everything for me. I had no idea then how dangerous Moriarty was, or how far he was willing to go for this game. Sherlock distracted me from those thoughts... I don't want to go into detail, but it was amazing. Yes, probably wrong. Yes, stupid. We both gave a damn about our own morals, knowing that sooner or later what happened that night would break our hearts.

After a while, things went back to the way they were. We want things to stay the way they were. We want to keep the carelessness of these days. But sometimes you have to die for one life to enter another.

\- John.

\- Hello, Sherlock.

\- Stay there. Now look up. I'm on the roof. I...can't come down. I have to talk like this.

\- What's going on?

\- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a trickster and a liar. That's what I'm supposed to be in your eyes.

\- Why are you saying all this?

\- Tell anyone who will listen to you... Tell them I created Moriarty for my own purposes.

\- Shut up, Sherlock. Shut up! Then, the first time we met, you knew all about me. Only you would do something like that.

\- I've been studying you to impress you. Even before we met. No, don't take your eyes off me!

\- That's good.

\- That's what people do.

\- What do they do?

\- They leave a note.

\- When do they leave it?

\- When they say goodbye. John, it's not always say goodbye before death... but not this time.

\- No! Don't...

\- I'm no hero and never have been. Goodbye, John.

\- Sherlock! Sherlock...

It's overcast. I don't really remember if it rained or not, how hard the wind was blowing or if I was cold. I remember the rustling of the leaves on the trees, I remember the silence and the grey, silent tombstones with dates and names. A piercing pain somewhere inside and eyes tired of tears. I never thought our meeting could be in a place like this. I stare at your name and fragments of phrases and memories flicker in my mind... Unspoken words. This is what you left me, Sherlock... 

\- You told me... that you weren't a hero. But you were... the best... the most humane man I've ever known. I've been so lonely, and I owe you so much. But I only ask one thing of you, Sherlock. Stop all this. I can't accept you... because I feel like I'm not. I'd compare you to Van Buren's supernova... It's a game, isn't it? All you have to do is find the truth, prove you're just a fake... I'm not capable of that. Show me how genius you are... Please, Sherlock. Be... alive. Can you do that? For me?

If you cling to the past so tightly, the future may not come... until death do us part.


	4. My past comes back with you

[Forgotten soul born in а grave,  
Fifteen years locked in a cage]

\- Do you want me to say it out loud?

\- It's been a year and a half since we last met.

\- You read the papers? You know why I'm here. Because...

\- What's wrong, John?

\- I... no. He... I can't, no.

\- You need to get over yourself.

\- My best friend... Sherlock Holmes... is dead.

So many things left in the flat - books, letters, his favourite skull and lab equipment. Mrs Hudson put all the equipment in boxes to give to the school later. Anyway, I can't let that happen. Or maybe I can. I'm pissed, and that's... normal? That's what happens after a loved one dies. Sherlock left everyone feeling that way. Mrs. Hudson kept talking about the scratches on the table that Sherlock left, how he poured from his gun at half past midnight, how he kept organs and blood samples in the fridge. It took me a long time to muster the strength to come here, but I did return to Baker Street to be at least briefly alone with my thoughts of him. 

A year and a half later I met Mary. She's amazing, the one... At first I just wanted to distract myself, forget it all like a bad dream. I thought it wouldn't work out and she'd leave me, because a long relationship with the hope of a future, as it turned out, wasn't my thing. I was wrong, because I just met the wrong people. She didn't turn her back on me when I was having a hard time, she didn't think I was an idiot in love with her friend. Understanding. That's what made Mary different from the others. She was the one who helped me accept Sherlock's death, helped me let him go, but he would still live on in my memory. I stopped blogging, though very occasionally I would reread my articles with Mary, telling her about the old days. With her, my life took on colour again, the tearing pain subsided and turned into sorrow. I became a little happier because I felt a kind of relief in my soul. It was time to start a new life. And yes, I had decided to propose to Mary.

"The man who burns inside" is capable of empathy, he is humane, gentle and idealistic, and - at the same time - an obsessive unstable introvert. Mycroft had always been that kind of person, but it was only now that I saw this "burnt-out" part of his soul. That was the first time he felt lonely. I saw him near Sherlock's grave and each time he was silent. I don't know what he was thinking, but I didn't dare to approach him myself, because I couldn't find the right and proper words.

I watched the people who came here on this day of mourning for them. The eulogies are full of deep meaning: they give an idea of who the deceased should have been. I thought that the last debt is always paid late, and this debt of gratitude is usually paid in the form of sincere condolences. Mycroft stood beside me, for he owed much to his brother.

And I thought I'd come here for the last time.

\- Look at them. They're so worried.

\- They've lost someone dear to them.

\- Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me. Taking care of someone isn't an advantage, John. All lives end, all hearts are broken.

\- But people grieve, they cry. They're entitled to it.

\- They do, but not you. If I tell you that you will meet soon, what then, Dr Watson?

\- What?

\- Hello, John.

\- All this time... Did you know?!

\- He's my brother. Of course I knew. Also, his death would have broken my heart.

\- Mycroft, would you be so kind as to leave us?

In the shade of the trees, Sherlock waited until he could approach. I couldn't believe it was really him... The same black coat and blue scarf, the same arrogant but understanding look, the same voice... Oh, Sherlock, why did you do it?

\- I don't deserve your forgiveness, but at least hear me out. John, I had to disappear. I could say it was Moriarty's fault, but I won't. I don't want to make excuses or lie. If you want to be angry, be angry, you can hit me.

\- I... I mourned your death! How can you play with other people's feelings like that?!

\- John...

\- You could have told me. Anything. But no, I'm the clever one, I'm Sherlock Holmes! I always do everything on my own! No, Sherlock... If feelings don't matter to you, think of others. Those who love you... who care about you...

\- I was thinking about you. If you knew, you'd be in danger. I'd probably be standing by your grave right now. I've done what ordinary people would never do in their lives.

\- One word. Just one word, Sherlock.

\- I foresaw thirteen scenarios, but I only had to choose one that kept me alive.

\- How did you do that?

\- You asked for a miracle and it came true. Be careful what you wish for.

\- Is that why you waited two years?

\- London is in grave danger. A terrorist attack is imminent. I need your help. You missed it, admit it. A perpetual hunt for criminals, blood rushing through your veins, you and me against the world. 

I can't believe what he did, but then again... it's Sherlock. I'm confused, I don't even know what's going to happen next. Will we go back to that familiar Baker Street routine? To be honest, I'm glad I was right. Sherlock, this is amazing! I don't know what happened that day, I checked your pulse, but it wasn't there. You cheated death. Or me. Yes, I've gone now, leaving you alone by your own tombstone, but I'm glad you're alive. I just can't accept it... not so fast.

But I forgive you.

My past comes back with you. You're risking your life because you don't know any other way. You're playing with death, Sherlock. Ordinary people can't do that.

What about me? In that case, the only thing left to say is the truth...

It's not the war that's coming for me. I'm following it.


	5. Rose of the World

[A worn heart numb to the pain,  
The hopeless tears fall from her face]

\- Hello, Sherlock.

\- John, is something wrong?

\- How are you?

\- Mrs. Hudson wanted to throw out my lab. Told Mycroft at the last minute to stop her. Tea?

\- No, thanks. I just came by to say... to ask. It's very important to me. Sherlock... you'll be my...

\- What about Mary?

\- ..best man?

\- Oh, you mean that. Who?

\- Come on, you're my best friend. Don't forget to prepare a speech.

\- But I didn't even answer.

\- You don't have to. Thank you.

One of the most important days of my life is coming up. The wedding. I love Mary very much, and I am happy that we will seal the bond of our love with our vows. For Sherlock, love is an emotional thing, and as such, it is the opposite of clear and cold reason. And he puts reason before everything else. He never marries, lest he lose his lucidity of reason. Still, it is everyone's choice whether to love or not, and I have already made mine. 

On that bright May day I saw Mary in a beautiful white dress. Her veil fluttered slightly in the wind, a smile on her face and a bouquet in her trembling hands. Sherlock gave a speech, simultaneously revealing a crime, a little different from what I'd expected, but it contained all his love and gratitude. His gift was a violin sonata 'Waltz for John and Mary'. I was very touched...

The beginning of a new life without the adventure, risk and danger that awaits around every corner. Me as a model family man and my beloved wife. So I thought...

Late at night Sherlock called me and told me to come to the specified address. He handed me his coat and told me to wait. It had to do with Mary. I feared she was in danger, but as it turned out, I was in danger.

\- You worked for the British Government and then you resigned. What happened, Mary? Isn't there another name?

\- Sherlock, I just wanted to protect myself. And John... if he knew the truth, he would have left me. I was just scared of losing him.

\- AGRA. What's that?

\- Our group. Professional assassins. The name is the first letters of the names. I'm Rosamund.

\- What happened?

\- We were supposed to rescue a British minister, we took our positions, we waited for orders, but something went wrong. We were made out to be terrorists, I was the only survivor. Here's the flash drive, it's got all the information, the stuff that's protecting me.

\- I don't need it.

\- Then what are you after? I could have killed you in there, but I didn't. My shot's like pure surgery. You get that, don't you? What can I do, Sherlock?

\- John, what do you think?

I didn't believe... And it wasn't another Sherlock game. I was angry, just furious, because the person I loved and loved the most turned out to be a liar. It's all happening again.

\- Why is it like this?! Why is my friend a lunatic and a drug addict, his brother the personification of all British power, the landlady turns out to be the wife of a drug dealer, and my wife is a top-class hitman for hire?! Sherlock, why is she like that?

\- Because you chose her. You miss it. Danger, murder, duty and honesty, that's your world. You want war, John. And you look for it in ordinary life. That's normal. 

I left without even looking at Mary. Again the deception, the betrayal. Things had just started to get better, and then another mystery was revealed. I'm tired of this. Sherlock gave me that flash drive, but I wouldn't look at it, threw it in the fireplace. It's a past she's walked away from and doesn't want to go back. She married me. I can't ruin everything now. Anyway, there is no more Rosamund Morstan, there is only Mary Elizabeth Watson.

Life goes on, including Baker Street. Mrs Hudson has made us tea, continuing to reiterate that she is not our housekeeper. Sherlock and Mycroft were arguing about matters of national importance, while Mary and I just watched, enjoying our wine. At some point Mycroft got a call from the government. It became clear that it was very serious because he left in a hurry without saying anything. It seemed business as usual, but Mary was concerned. We exchanged glances without saying a word until she got the message.

\- John, I need to go away for a while. It's urgent, but I'll be back quickly.

\- Maybe I should come with you.

\- Oh, no. Keep an eye on Sherlock in case he gets bored again.

\- Has something happened? You're not yourself.

\- I'm... I'm fine. I really am. John, I love you.

\- And I love you. You can count on me. And tell me everything.

\- Another time. Sherlock, I leave it to you.

It was our last conversation, our last kiss... because two hours later I learned that Mary had been murdered at the London Oceanarium.

I looked up into the sky, raindrops falling on my hands as all the birds flew away to safety. I stood facing the oncoming storm because I had lost everything. My tortured heart no longer feels pain, my soul bleeds with misery. That must be why I cry, for tears are the blood of the soul. 

\- Most people get married because they don't want to admit that they have never loved enough to dare to tie their life to another person. Idealism, wanting to prove to yourself that you're capable of the ultimate experience.

\- Oh, Sherlock, stop it. I've lost the one person I could have shared my only life with.

\- Love is neither a disadvantage nor an advantage. It's a given, John. It's what stays after you learn of the death of a loved one. I think I should leave you alone. Then come home. To Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson and I will be waiting for you.

\- Thank you. Hmm... Looking through the photos, I found one amongst them. It was in the evening, about a week after we met. We were walking in the park and took our first picture together. It was after Sherlock's funeral. You were there for me... despite all my tears. You got me out of the house, made me smile, let me scream and cry if I needed it. That was the first step towards healing.

I'm grateful to you, Mary...

It was when the universe brought us together. Exactly when it was so important to me. Not a year earlier or later. Just when it mattered.

I promise... to move on... even though it's not easy. You brought me back to life, now I have to do it myself. I know you'd say I'm not alone, I have great friends. Yes, that's true... but you're gone... 

Mary, it hurts me, but... I'm letting you go... it's better to do it right away. But I'll always remember the beautiful days I spent with you. I'm grateful to fate for the chance to be happy, if only for a little while.

I love you, Rosamund.


	6. East wind

[No one to even say goodbye,  
She sees no value in her life]

"There's an east wind coming, Sherlock. It will take you away." 

I heard it from Mycroft once and couldn't get it out of my head again. Sherlock wrote just one word, Sherinford, and hung the sheet with that word in the centre of the wall. The Holmeses have their secrets, but even they have something in common. 

I thought that a quiet, measured life must somehow have the opposite effect, giving me a great deal of free time, which I have not rationally exhausted. All I have to do is glance at my own and other people's thoughts, while my mind goes blank. Someone once said that death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies in us as we live. I realised that I haven't lost Mary, for she is always in my heart and in my memory. I feel better when I think of it that way. It's almost a year now, after all.

We recently had a very strange client, ahem, a client. He claims that her father is going to commit a crime - to kill someone - and she's scared. She thinks she knows, but just can't remember. It's only one word, but Sherlock notices at once that it's a name, which means two or more words. A routine that succeeded, but only one thing was unclear. Who was this woman? I had seen her several times on the other side of town and she tried to meet me, but I told her I was in a hurry. As it turns out, our client is not the daughter of a millionaire and, yes, a serial killer. Who was in our flat?

\- It's our so-called "middle brother," or rather sister. Eurus.

\- Why don't I remember her?

\- Because you chose not to, brother.

The sister Sherlock doesn't even remember. Mycroft told of their childhood, of what little Eurus had done, and where she was now. Sherrinford is an island, a prison for the likes of her. I couldn't even believe such a thing was possible. As clever as Eurus is, so dangerous. Sherlock insisted on seeing her, despite his brother's objections and denials. In the end, Mycroft agreed, but on condition of confidentiality.

All I remember is the storm, the outline of the island and... total silence... and voices in the dark...

\- Hello, my dear brother. I'm glad to see you again. This time you've come with your friends or else... Sherlock... it's been a long time. I must say, your place is lovely, but it's too boring, so I'm inviting you over. Let's play a game. There's a gun over there. Take it. Good boy. How many bullets? Just let your friend, John Watson, answer.

\- Two.

\- All right. There's another man with you, and I have his wife. As you understood, he must die to save her. Sherlock, pick the one who shoots him.

\- Mycroft.

\- I won't get blood on my hands.

\- John.

It was a strange feeling, but I wanted to do it. Sherlock handed me the gun, I went up to the man, asked his name. For the sake of formality. I brought him to his knees and fired. My hand didn't even flinch. Why did I do it... because I was told... I was given an order. I don't know Eurus, I don't know what she's after, but I only know one thing... she'll play on our feelings more than once.

\- Let's get on with it.

Fear, trying to take control of us, obscured common sense. A shrill siren scream and it's like we're on fire. Make or die - is that the point of her game? Oh, damn right it is! I just killed a man. Shot an unarmed man... because we were all in danger. "We're soldiers today, John." You're right, Sherlock, as right as ever.

\- Now here's an assignment for you, brother. It's up to you to decide who you go with next. What's more important to you, blood ties or friendship?

\- Eurus, I won't do it!

\- You can't do this. You have to play by the rules. You like rules, don't you, Sherlock? Come on, think back to your childhood. Remember everything.

\- Then I'll change the game.

I snatched the gun from Sherlock's hands and swore I would kill him if she didn't let us go. Now she knows I could kill anyone, but she wouldn't let him die. It's easier for her to change her own rules. Bloody psychopath! She doesn't give a damn about us at all!

\- John Watson, how brave. Ah. So loyal. How many would you kill for him? Answer me, and I'll let you go.

\- You'll let everyone go.

\- I make the rules here. So how many?

\- Anyone. Anyone who puts their life on the line. All of them.

\- I knew it. Now let's see what a brother would do for you.

It's dark. It's impossible not to flinch, the cold chills going through every cell of my body. I was surrounded by walls... a well? I felt something crunch beneath my feet. Oh, no... it's... bones. Little bones. Why am I here? Sherlock? Please help... 

\- Where are Mycroft and John?!

\- Mycroft's brother's fine, but John...

\- What have you done to him?!

\- Nothing.

\- Tell me where he is!

\- Sherlock. His blood's not worth your tears.

\- Eurus, I'm begging you. Tell me where John is.

\- Does he mean so much to you? Why is he so precious to you?

\- John is my friend. He's my family, and I can't let anything happen to him.

\- Do you know what that's called? Caring, affection, wanting to protect and be there for you... that's love, Sherlock. Something I never had. Remember the song. That's the answer.

\- I don't have time for this.

\- You never had time for me. I just wanted your attention, I wanted to be your friend, but you didn't even notice me. You wouldn't let me be around. You know, I was in a lot of pain, and now you're gonna be in a lot of pain. It's only fair.

\- I never thought you were lonely. If only I'd known... But now my friend is dying. Help me save him.

\- When you think you're right, you're probably wrong. What's broken - bone, heart, love or life - can be glued back together, but it won't be whole again. And no matter what I've said before, you can still tell by the person you didn't know. I was convinced of that every day. Every day that I lived without you.

\- I found you and you'll never be alone again, and now let's save my friend together.

\- People are so sentimental when it comes to their pets. You don't want me to drown another one, do you?

They found me. I tried with all my might to warm up a little, to take away the agonizing shivers, but my body was still chilled. I could feel the touch of his hands. Sherlock put his arm around my shoulders, squeezing my barely perceptible fingers tightly, leaving marks on my pale skin. He'd done what he shouldn't have done at all. The most important thing is that we are alive. I've tasted murder again in this underworld, been to war again. 

Yes, Sherlock, we're soldiers today.

\- What happens to her now?

\- Mycroft said she's going to stay in Sherrinford. Promised her parents would see her soon. Eurus won't be alone any more. What can you tell me about her?

\- A tormented, wounded girl. It was as if her soul had been pulled out and forcibly left her frail body to exist on its own.

\- Not exactly what I was expecting to hear.

\- Well, I'm sorry.

\- She said that I... that I had, um, feelings for you.

\- What?

\- Don't you start!

\- No, you didn't! I wasn't going to. Go on. What feelings?

\- John, you know the word. I can't say it. My mind won't allow it.

\- No. I don't know what you mean.

\- I once said I don't like people, but you're an exception. You're more than just a friend to me and... Eurus said that I... love you...?

\- What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!

\- Let me think... Something like: - "You deserve so much more, but by the decision of some higher power, I love you specifically. So just let me figure out how I feel". Something like that.

\- You know what? At least not so fast after Mary. Oh, shut up. That's not what I meant at all.

\- We're both denying the obvious. Throwing away all the facts will get you the truth, and you know it.

\- No, Sherlock, I don't. I'm not as clever as you. And also... happy birthday.

\- Thank you, John. That's... very kind of you.

\- I never knew when your birthday was.

\- Now you do. 

Sherlock asked me not to tell anyone, but it was too late. Everyone wanted to congratulate him. By evening we were all together; Mrs. Hudson and Molly had cooked dinner, Lestrade had brought letters from Scotland Yard, even there found out about it, I bought wine, even Mycroft came, which I certainly wasn't expecting. I thought he'd just send a message or a phone call. We sat up late into the night talking, laughing and just enjoying the party.

After everyone had gone, I stayed in the living room and looked out the window very quietly, as if afraid of disturbing the silence of the night. There were billions of stars scattered across the wrenched canvas of the sky, giving a free gift of beauty to all who stared at them. I drank wine while holding the wedding photo of Mary, the most beautiful woman of all and the best for me. Something inexplicable had cut so deeply, opened a barely healed wound, and left me bleeding somewhere inside. But it didn't hurt me. Everyone loses their youth, parents, loved ones, friends and finally life itself. You can choose not to accept it, and you will still lose it.

I am no longer alone. The east wind has carried us all away, leaving only the truth, exposing our hearts.


	7. The last shot

[Have we really strayed this far from love?]

Gunshots sound in the dead of night, leaving a piercing echo. The air is soaked with gunpowder and the ground with blood. Somewhere behind the shroud of smoke, I wait for dawn in the clouds. There is tension in my eyes, blood boils in my veins, my nerves are on edge. While I hear the footsteps of enemies lurking in the shadows, I cannot escape from this promised land, because... not even to run... nowhere. I hear voices before the explosion, but it's not far enough to turn back in time. The shivers will stop breaking as soon as I kill them. I want to scream at the top of my throat, clutching my own shoulders until bruised, digging my fingers into them, definitely leaving not scars, but long-healing scratches.

I just know... we all know... that lives are at stake.

Life goes on, but I don't feel it the way it used to. A lot has changed. It might be embarrassing to admit it, but Sherlock has replaced Mary for me. In a good way. He's become more human and understanding and not so arrogant. I really don't know what happened to him, but he became the way I saw him, perhaps only in my head. I think it's all Eurus's influence. Yes, she's not the perfect sister... oh God, she's spent her whole life locked up... but she was the one who opened Sherlock's feelings, let him know it was okay and even right.

Oh no, that doesn't mean I love him... but maybe just a little bit... It's just feelings, kind of like chemistry, but more personal. Like I said before.

I decided to write another blog post, but first I tidied up my desk. Sherlock doesn't like to put away books or documents he's read at all, and Mrs Hudson just isn't allowed to touch them. That's why I decided to put everything away. Among the papers I found a scrap; it was part of a letter.

"... and I sacrificed myself, hoping that you would appreciate my sacrifice, that one day you would understand my deep tenderness for him, which is independent of any conditions. It has been a long time since then: I have penetrated all the secrets of your soul... and I have become convinced that even you deserve to live... live my life, Sherlock... live it for John Watson, whom I love..."

I recognised the handwriting straight away. Mary. What a bastard you are, Sherlock!

It's unfair, but it's not even that, it's the fact that no one told me. Not Mary herself, not Sherlock, not Mycroft. I'm sure it could have been avoided. Somehow... But not at the cost of my wife's life! What the hell is going on here?!

I called Mycroft and asked for a meeting. Twenty minutes later a car was sent for me and I drove to the Diogenes Club. He was there too.

\- Is there anything you want to tell me?

\- Have a seat, Dr. Watson. It's going to be a long talk.

\- That's all right. I'm in no hurry.

\- A member of the British government found out why the operation failed four years ago. Mary was the executor and Sherlock found out the whole truth, a decision was made to eliminate them both because the official's confidentiality and immunity had been breached. Sherlock found a solution.

\- Compromise. We wanted to make it look like a leak. Unfortunately, I was exposed.

\- That's right. My brother made a mistake. He said your name, Dr. Watson. You're his vulnerability, whereas yours is Mary Morstan. Do you see where I'm going with this?

\- Not really.

\- Your death is beneficial in many ways. For everyone. That, of course, cannot be allowed to happen. Sherlock was prepared to make such a sacrifice for you and your wife, but the day before, Mary gave herself up to them. She gave up her identity, you might say, and then she was murdered. We didn't see it coming. I still don't know her motives, though. I've said all I have to say. Do you wish to speak, Dr Watson?

\- Yes. Sherlock, why didn't you stop her? Why did you let her die?

\- I didn't know, John... 

I hit him. Again. And again. My hands are stained with blood, but I can't stop. Not now. He could barely speak, I might have broken a couple of his ribs, he gasped in pain, but he kept staring into my eyes. It was like a wild beast had awakened inside me, trying to break free. I was painfully familiar with that feeling myself, that unquenchable flame that couldn't be stopped.

\- Don't, Mycroft... He has that right, because I killed his wife.

\- Yes, you did.

\- But nevertheless, you are alive. You're alive now because of her... her death has given you and me... another day... John, I don't expect you to forgive me... not for that... but please understand that it was her choice... 

\- Shut up, Sherlock! You could have saved her! You could have, but you didn't!

In my rage, I didn't even notice I pointed the gun at him and... shot him... my hand didn't even flinch... 

\- What did I just...?

\- Just shot my brother. Give me the gun, Dr. Watson, and call an ambulance. But first one question, and be honest in your answer, "You knew where to shoot, didn't you?"

At first I didn't even realise what had happened. It was all a blur. Sherlock was taken to St Bartholomew's Hospital, he lost a lot of blood because... Yes! Yes!!! I knew where to shoot. Anything. I'm willing to forgive anything but this... I hate you because you're always playing with other people's lives! You devalue their feelings! But then why do I consider you my friend...?

"Who are you? You can't be here!" "For God's sake, please let me through, there's a friend of mine... He's dying!" "I can't do that". "We don't allow anyone in the ICU". "Then I'll be the exception". "Let him in, or you'll be prosecuted for conducting an experiment with illegal psychotropic drugs". "Of course, Mr Holmes".

Oh, Sherlock... He's in pain, and I can see him struggling for life. He's got a gunshot wound to the abdomen. I'm sure many of his organs are affected, and also... it's been quite a while... and I know he'll die of internal bleeding, not quickly, but excruciatingly... 

\- I know you can't hear me, but I have to say it. Sort of a confession. I have watched my friends die in the once blooming field that has been scarred by war. Fallen as they were my brothers in arms, but even their hearts and the hearts of all brave men cannot bring me back to life... A normal life. You have succeeded. Forgive me... I never wished you dead, but this truth has broken me... brought me back to what I tried so hard to escape... 

\- You can't escape your destiny, John. I saw it coming. You lived with the bastard who ruined your life. 

\- No! Not at all! Sherlock... 

\- This could be your last moments... Stay with me till the end, please... John, it's not your fault, you did what you felt... and that's the best thing about you, but what I don't have... feeling, love in the end... I only realised that now, but it's too late... And I did love... everyone who was there... Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly, Mycroft and Eurus, Mary... and you... 

He was gone in four minutes. All that time I looked at him the way I looked at Mary. With all the tenderness, but barely holding back the tears. I killed him, and there's no excuse, no forgiveness. But still... 

Why am I losing everyone I care about?!

I look up at the grey London sky again. The sun's rays try to break through the thick clouds, but they don't stand a chance. The sky has its own hidden life that binds everyone on this Earth with invisible threads. The cold steel of the river merged with the steel of the sky. Everything is silent, submerged in memories, and there seems to be no end to this monotony, because his heart no longer beats, buried in the cold earth.

\- What do you intend to do next?

\- I do not know. You speak so calmly to me. After what happened... 

\- Stop it. It was inevitable.

\- And Eurus? Does she know?

\- Yes, I'll bring her to my brother's grave tomorrow. And you, don't leave London. I insist on continuing our relationship. We are, after all, family.

\- Mycroft, I appreciate that, but is it right?

\- Of course it is. I'm sure he'd want you to stay. Promise me you'll come here and you won't leave him alone. I have to go now, but I'd be delighted if you decide to come and see me. It's not a courtesy, it's a request.

\- Say something about him.

\- Deep water, Sherlock, your whole life, like all your dreams, is deep water... 

\- What about me?

When people ask a question, they want to hear the answer. I already knew it. I just need confirmation. Knowing the truth, you accept it and move on, unable to change anything. Deep down, I understand that each of us did what we thought was right. After all, that's what people do when they love someone; they sacrifice themselves. But I could not be a sacrifice, I am the one who needs them and for whom they are made.

\- War still beats in your heart, Dr. Watson.


End file.
